Full Circle
by Sylvr
Summary: Theta and Koschei were together at the begining, and they were again at the end. Non-slash, just friendship. Oneshot. Dr. Who's not mine.


F U L L C I R C L E

"_He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the center of time and he can see the turn of the universe. And...He's wonderful. He is joy, and light, and happiness, and love, and all the good things of this universe. He is the stars, and the moon, and the sky..."_

The thing that the doctor never mentioned, when he explained about how the Master had been driven mad by the Untempered Schism, was the fact that he, a boy of only six, had been there as well. Theta and Koschei, the two most brilliant of their time, and possibly any time, prophesied as killer and as coward, banisher and bringer. Theta (the white-blonde hair of his first incarnation wild, teased in all directions by the mountain winds) stood, thin as a razor with a mind twice as sharp, beside the round-faced boy two years his senior, dark hair neatly trimmed. Both orphans of time, their parents off traveling in their TARDISes, left to be cared for by the government of the Time Lords. And the Time Lords had tested them, trained them, challenged them with the best that Gallifrey had to offer, and they had risen to overcome all that was set before them. But only together had they overcome: both knew that without the other, the training they had received would have destroyed them. So now they stood together once again, before their final test: the Untempered Schism. The entourage of their teachers and proctors, of the heads of war departments and of prophecy, and other various figures of importance. All kept their eyes averted from the Schism, and the boys approached it with bowed heads and shaking hands. They were the youngest Galllifreyians to be initiated into Time Lordship in over two thousand years--standard age for initiation was about fifty years. For a long, elastic moment they were made to stand before the Schism, eyes to the ground, before their primary teacher gave the order and they slowly raised their heads.

Koschei looked into the Untempered Schism and drums roared in his ears, rippling through his thoughts, tearing through the web of time itself to resonate in his mind. The Schism was madness to his dark eyes, the Universe flooding his head and destroying the anchors that made him sane. He stood before the Schism and wished desperately to run, to flee the madness, but found he could not.

And Theta…Theta stood before the Schism and found that the Universe was singing. Knit together with strands of life and feeling, bound with wibbly-wobbly time-stuff, absurd and brilliant and _fantastic_. Stupidly, before anyone could stop him, he reached out and touched the Schism, with his right hand. He could _feel _it, could feel the whole of reality, in his skin, in his bones, in his hearts. It was pure, beautiful, perfect, total chaos. But the darkness crept through this great chaos snipping threads that caused the song to swing off key. And Theta, too, wanted to run, to run for a TARDIS and stop the darkness, to run for the stars and hear the song up close.

But he didn't run. His mind was stretched wide open, and he could hear Koschei's mental screaming beside him. Theta pulled his hand from the vortex and stretched it out to cup Koschei's face, turning it to face him. The older boy's wide black eyes stared at him for a long moment, then Theta blinked, twice, rapidly. A long moment passed, and Theta was afraid Koschei hadn't gotten the message. But then Koschei blinked back, and as one, they turned on their heels and ran, hearts pounding in a unison rhythm of four.

They hid for a week in Koschei's father's lands while the Time Lords looked for them. Then they were sent back to the academy. They graduated, first Koschei, then, six months later, Theta, both at the top of their respective classes. Each took a TARDIS, and ran for the stars, Theta running to meet the Universe, and Koschei fleeing the drums of Gallifrey. They had spectacular adventures, and met up occasionally to chat, but the closeness of their boyhood had been lost, and while they were both rebels, they often disagreed.

Then the war came, and the two great geniuses were summoned back to Gallifrey. Theta came, and was sent to the front lines. Koschei didn't, and was banished from Gallifrey forever. Theta watched his people die in endless paradoxes, slaughtered in a war that was quickly destroying the universe. The song of the Universe swelled in him, worlds calling for a doctor, a healer. Theta knew what must be done--it was time to amputate. He gathered together the total of all that he was and ever would be, and destroyed the two great races.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When it ended, they were in opposite positions; the Doctor, Theta, crippled on the stone floor, unable to move (frozen in place as Koschei had been when the drums first ravaged his mind) because of the broken bones he'd sustained in his landing. The tiny part of Koschei that remained beneath the drumming and the screaming of the Master was terrified, for a split second, that the Doctor had died in the landing. Everyone who had been there at the beginning was there again; entering through the gate; old teachers, mentors, and the other larger-than-life figures of their long-ago childhoods. And the Master stood,(as Theta had, feeling the Universe singing in him) reveling in the glory of the Universe he was creating in his own image. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, as though his body knew what was to come though his mind did not. Even their faces were reversed; the Doctor was dark-haired and dark-eyed, while the Master was white-blond, though a few shades darker than Theta had been. But the parts they played were the same as they had been for centuries: the Doctor still stood between the Universe and the darkness, still strong.

The Master smiled wildly as he greeted the return of Gallifrey, welcoming the planet he had fled so many centuries ago. The Doctor could hear Koschei screaming again, in his mind, and said farewell to the first world he had ever visited. But he couldn't hear the universe singing, he couldn't feel the flow of time, and he didn't know what to do. He had a weapon in his hand again, just as before, and he would again doom Gallifrey for the sake of the Universe. His regret was that he would have to kill (again) to save it, kill Koschei, who had been his first friend. This would be how the Doctor died, as well, because "The Man Who Never Would" would be destroyed when he pulled the trigger. And what would he be if not the Doctor? He could never be Theta again, because Theta was half a person, a person completed by a boy named Koschei, who was buried within the Master's mind.

But perhaps he could spare his friend, and… This time, this time he would not be the lone survivor, this time he would go down with his world.

"Get out of the way."

The Master (or perhaps Koschei?), tears shining in his eyes, looked at the Doctor with confusion. Then recognition dawned, and he leaped, the bullet passing through where he had just been. The Diamond shattered, and Theta turned back to the President, accepting his fate, Koschei safe behind him. And it _was _Koschei--the signal was broken, the drums were gone, and the boy once again emerged. Theta had seen it in his old friend's eyes, and was content. All of the Doctor's companions were safe; there was no one left. No one but Theta.

"You'll die with me!" the president roared, enraged.

The Doctor--Theta--didn't blink, didn't flinch. His head descended in a nod that was practically invisible, his hands steady as they had not been when he had stood before the Untempered Schism.

"I know," he said. This was worth dying for. This was worth an eternity of torment. The Master no longer existed, the planet Gallifrey would fall, those he cared for were safe. The beautiful chaos he had heard singing through the Schism would be protected, and that was worth it.

The President stretched out his metal hand, reaching to pull the Doctor down with the rest of his race. The Doctor made no attempt to dodge. This was worth it, he reassured himself. This was worth it.

"Get out of the way."

He whirled as best he could, wounded and weary as he was, to see Koschei standing, rubbing his hands together. The energy of all his resurrections gathered in his hands as he shrieked at the President, at the Time Lord who had corrupted his existence, made him into a monster, stolen his innocence. Theta hurled himself away, and the bolt of life energy lanced past. Theta watched in horror as his friend burnt himself up, the light of his body dissipating being washed out by the light from the collapsing gate.

Then the Doctor knew no more.

When he came around, scarce seconds later, he was astonished to find that both his hearts were still beating.

"I'm alive," he mumbled. Thanks to Koschei. He was just gathering his strength to stand, marveling at the fact that he was still breathing, when he heard it.

It was not the song of the universe, not the Master's drums, and not the sound of Gallifrey falling.

No, it was the simple sound of human flesh on glass.

Four knocks.

And with the same rush of clarity that he had first felt when he touched the Untempered Schism, the Doctor understood.

Intense calm filled him for a moment, and his voice was level as he explained what was going on to the daft old man stuck in the box. And then irrational rage roared through him, and he shouted and argued and broke things and screamed at the Universe he had saved from the darkness, only to be rewarded with this. He tried to convince himself that he would be right to let the man die, justified to keep living, to validate Koschei's sacrifice. He would die to save the Universe, yes, but one man? One foolish old man?

_Yes._

His rational mind asserted itself, and he knew that no matter how he raged, there was only one choice. The man had knocked, and the Doctor would answer.

_Get out of the way, Wilf, I'll take this one._

With the terrible calm that had shone in his eyes as he waited for the President to pull him into hell, the Doctor walked to the fragile glass prison that would be his death.

Somehow he had thought that when he died, he would be in space, surrounded by the glory of a supernova or a white dwarf star, or fighting some end-all monster from the far reaches of the universe, or in the TARDIS, ripping through the fabric of reality itself.

Never had he expected to die like this, a rat in a cage, waiting to be gassed.

The four beats of his hearts pounded in his ears like the Master's drums, and he pulled open the door easily.

_It's smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside, _he thought nonsensically, and then, _I'm not ready to die._

The Doctor pushed the button.

The only sounds that escaped him as he writhed in torment were strangled cries. His hand, the same hand that had been cut off, the same one that had once reached out and touched time itself, scraped and pressed desperately against the thin glass. He slumped down to the floor. He curled in on himself, hand clasped to his hair--not ginger, he'd never gotten to have ginger hair--and panted. He felt his hearts stop for a long moment, felt them failing. He staggered out of the box, surprised he could stand. But he'd argued with the Universe that he deserved more than this, and perhaps this was his reward: he would have time to say goodbye.

He could hear the Universe singing again.

**A/N: just a little ficlet. I'm new to the DrWhoverse, and all I've seen so far is the most recent TV series, so what I wrote is probably innacurate. I don't know when I wrote this, I just stumbled across the title and re-read it. Is it good if you surprise yourself with the ending to a story you wrote?**

**Review, please, and flame if you like. But remember: I'm ignorant and I know it, so if you can enlighten me on the History of Who, then please do!**

**Thanks,**

**~Sylvr**


End file.
